


Custom-made coffin

by Shi_no_tamashii



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: F/M, Theory based, Undertaker's past, undertaker's story, warning for torture and all that stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-08-22
Packaged: 2018-11-22 09:06:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11377017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shi_no_tamashii/pseuds/Shi_no_tamashii
Summary: -A fic based on a theory Miss Axolem and I created.-Undertaker falls in love with Claudia P. but queen Victoria knows that Undertaker isn't human. Threatened by his nature and the possibility of him turning against her, she wants him dead. It doesn't work out as planned. Nothing does, really. And what's Undertaker's connection to the Phantomhives precisely?!Warning spoilers chapter 130 and 131!Also on FF.net





	1. There's still an earl Phantomhive

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on a couple theories my good friend, Miss Axolem (Writer of Kuroshitsuji fics “Devil’s daughter” and “Death comes to all”), and myself came up with. The main idea of this added up to numerous things (according to us) so I decided to write this little thing~

Love is like the wind. You can’t see it, but you can feel it. At least according to one Nicholas Sparks. Undertaker, however, begged to differ. He knew its name and he knew how it looked like. Its appearance came in the form of a beautiful blue eyed woman whose name was Claudia Phantomhive. He remembered a time as a child where he sat on the sofa and looked around as if he’d never been in his own living room. He vaguely remembered sighing and making a promise to himself.

“When I grow up, I’ll gift all this. I have no need for an empty mansion.” He had said to what he supposed was an empty room.

“Young master Phantomhive, you can’t possibly be serious.” The Phantomhive butler stated with an amused smile. The butler had approached him and kneeled down in front of him. “Most kids your age can only dream of having anything you have.” The butler had said.

“But I don’t need it, Takuya.” He replied with a smile.

The Undertaker looked through the window of his dreary old shop where laughter once echoed through the rooms. “I want to be a funeral director when I grow up.” He echoed the words he had spoken as a child. “Help the living, praise the dead.” He added quietly.

“You do realize that you can’t get any lower than a funeral director.” He could still hear his butler’s answer.

“Low? Than who will take care of you when it’s your time?” Undertaker felt a smile tug at his lips at the memory of the surprised look Takuya had given him. The Undertaker shook the memory away. It hadn’t exactly gone as planned. He could still feel the sting of a thin blade on his throat. Not only the blade, but his own hands moving of their own accord was an ever present echo. It still frightened him. The peace he had felt afterwards and the bright light flashing before his eyes was when he realized what he had done.

“Earl Phantomhive!” Takuya had shouted, his voice sounding too distant for the young adult to reach. He could scarcely imagine what he must have looked like. A young man with long silver hair, deep blue eyes staring at the ceiling, unseeing of the ghosts surrounding his body.

He had become a grim reaper. Became one of the best in existence, or so he was told. He was a valuable asset to reaper dispatch, but he remembered his human life. He felt it carving meaningless words into his soul. He could hear its atrocious whispers. He knew why he had killed himself. He felt the same desire to end his own suffering creeping up on him, shortening his days, haunted by the appalling memories of the lives he had witnessed end. The souls he was forced to reap brought a smile filled with lunacy to his lips.

He became a funeral director at last. Laughter was his constant company, a welcome one for sure. Mainly because it was his only company.  
One day, however, his laughter had replaced itself with a genuine smile of not lunacy, but love. He looked straight into the eyes of a young woman, her eyes as blue as his own once had been.

“Good day, sir.” She had greeted him. “I…” Grief filled her dulled eyes.

“I understand.” The Undertaker had told her. He searched for her eyes, waiting for her to meet his gaze.

“Of course you do.” She had said. Undertaker suppressed a giggle, for once being successful.

“Shall..” Undertaker never got to continue. Delicate, feminine hands had found themselves on his face. There was a hand on either side of his face. They were so warm and gentle. Undertaker had noted.

“You have the most beautiful eyes.” The woman told him. Undertaker smiled. This time he couldn’t hold back the stubborn fit of giggles. The woman lowered her hands and looked away immediately, obviously embarrassed by her own boldness. “I…I apologize. I don’t know what overcame me.” She excused herself. She turned away from him completely, moving for the door. The Undertaker fought the giggles and quickly reached for her arm.

“No, don’t leave.” The mortician almost begged. His expression had lost its smile, instead a lonesome longing was filling up most of his strange, green phosphorescent, eyes. The eyes of a Shinigami. The woman stared at him for a moment longer, the Undertaker suspected it was an act of bravery. She must be frightened. He supposed. Well, who wasn’t? He let go of her arm and forced a smile, allowing her to move away from him any time she saw fit.

“You’re all alone.” She said as if stating a point. The Undertaker tilted his head, fascinated by her words. Was he truly alone? He wondered to himself.

“Um…” He tried to respond, but for the first time he felt that words did not come to him as easily as it should have been.

“Please, accept my apologies.” She said, realizing she was getting bold again. “I’m Claudia Phyntom.” She introduced herself with a smile. She had forgotten why she was in the shop of an undertaker it seemed. Not that the Undertaker minded, of course.

“Of course, I am the local undertaker.” He greeted her with a cautious smile. His words earned him an actual laugh, one not of his own for once. He felt a strange warm feeling well up inside his chest.

“So I gathered.” Claudia said. “Tell me at least your surname. I want to know who I’m talking to.” Claudia insisted. She was an adamant woman, Undertaker had noted. He considered his words carefully, but he found he simply couldn’t lie.

“Well, miss Phyntom, it’s Phantomhive.” The Undertaker told her. He knew he had made a mistake the moment he saw her eyes widen. She knew his name.

“Didn’t they all die?” She asked him in a whisper. Undertaker looked down at his buckled boots. Yes. “The only person inside the Phantomhive mansion is rumored to be the grand grand grandson of one of the head butlers.” She told him. Undertaker looked up in confusion. Before he had become a reaper, Takuya had been the head butler, but he didn’t have any children. Undertaker fought back the faces of his past, urging his body into moving away from the unusually social woman, afraid she could see them too if he stood too close.

“I’m afraid I need to go for a little while.” He excused himself and left his shop. He didn’t care if someone snatched anything from his shop. After all, he could hardly lock the door with Claudia still inside. He ran through the city and through the vast landscape he had memorized long ago. It took him all day, but when he arrived at his destination, he couldn’t help but hold his breath. The mansion still looked the same. He saw a shadow moving passed a window, its back straight and its head held up high. Takuya? No. He should be dead by now. Undertaker walked up to the front door and opened it, uncaring of the person he saw at the window. If they attacked him, he could easily overpower them. He was a reaper after all.

He stepped into the hall. The same old floor. He looked at the stairs. The same old carpet. He looked at the lights. Still too dark. He felt the comforting weight of his scythe, hidden in another dimension, ripped open easily.

“Can I help you?” He heard Takuya’s voice ask. He looked at the top of the staircase where an exact copy of his butler stood. Only, it wasn’t him.

“Yes. What’s your name?” Undertaker asked. He lowered his hand to his side, gripping his hidden scythe. The young man in front of him looked confused.

“Tanaka Ito.” The young man said. “I’m the Phantomhive butler.” He continued. Undertaker shook his head.

“There are no Phantomhives left, boy.” He told Tanaka who seemed to disagree. Tanaka pointed at the wall next to the Undertaker where the reaper knew hung a large painting of himself.

“The earl is still among us.” Tanaka said. He knew. Undertaker realized with a start. The younger man knew about Shinigami. “He’s right in our midst.”

 

_TO BE CONTINUED..._


	2. That mortician, in love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I’m going to update on a daily basis since most of the chapters are already written. I’m not sure yet so if there’s a day without a new chapter. Don’t yell at me.

A few days later, word came out. Earl Phantomhive was back. There were many rumors, people said he was a demon. That he couldn’t be the silent earl of decades ago. His eyes were not the Phantomhive trademark color. He was just the old mortician posing as the earl to earn some extra money.

“He does look like the earl who committed suicide.” They had all seen the pictures of the dead earl.

“He’s not. He’s too young to be him.” An old man responded.

“But look at him!” The person from before said.

“No. You look! The eyes.”

Undertaker still worked as a mortician, covering most of his face to hide his unnatural eyes. He was already regretting going back to the estate. Tanaka proved to be an excellent servant though; he even helped him sneak out, fully understanding his wishes of wanting some relief from the heavy duty of being an earl.

The door to his humble shop opened with a creak. Undertaker made sure to make his voice sound different from what people had heard from earl Phantomhive. After all, Undertaker wasn’t him. He didn’t want to be him.

“Good day, earl.” The sound of Claudia’s voice warmed the entire room, melting the Undertaker’s usual grin into a more natural smile.

“Ah, miss Phyntom, welcome back.” Undertaker greeted. Claudia had been passing by his shop regularly. She kept him company while he worked, talking to him so he wouldn’t drown in the oceans of the dead. She approached him and gave him a hug. He loved her hugs, he felt secure in her arms. They were interrupted by a loud creak which Undertaker knew was the door, having heard the all too familiar sound daily.

“Sir,…” It was Tanaka. He stopped when he saw Claudia, cautious about revealing the identity of his master. “I’ll come back later.” Tanaka said, turning to leave.

“Wait.” Undertaker called out. “She knows everything.” He said still smiling. Tanaka turned around, his gaze thoughtful before he spoke,

“Reaper dispatch requests your pres-…” Undertaker crossed the room with speed Claudia had never seen before or thought anyone was capable of. The mortician held his hand on the butler’s mouth, preventing him from saying anything.

“Not everything.” Undertaker whispered hastily. In all honesty, he’d forgotten he wasn’t human. He had reaped souls. So many souls. They were all still there, lingering inside his own. They were feeding off of his life’s essence, becoming a nuisance once more. He’d gotten rid of them. No. Apparently not. He shook his head, willing the invading thoughts away.

“Are you alright, earl?” Tanaka asked him. Undertaker nodded, hating the title they kept calling him.

“Yes yes, I will deal with dispatch later.” Undertaker said waving a hand dismissively.

“Reaper dispatch?” Claudia asked. The reaper looked at her, his expression void of emotion. Tanaka retreated soundlessly into the busy streets of London. Undertaker could hear people on the street muttering to one another,

“What did the Phantomhive butler seek at the Undertaker’s?” They were wondering.

“Did the earl die again?” He heard someone else ask before the door was closed. Claudia hadn’t heard, he noted. Being near-sighted gave him the advantage of perceiving barely inaudible sounds clearly. If it could be called an advantage was up for discussion.

“Before I explain. I want to ask you something first.” He went to one of the shelves lining the main room of the shop. He made quick work of taking a little box and turning back to Claudia who waited patiently. “I’ve had this in my possession for some time now.” He began. “And if you’re sure,” He opened the box and held it out to her. “Will you marry me?” He asked her. Her hands covered her mouth quickly.

“It’s a beautiful ring, Undertaker.” She said. The mortician smiled at how she had called him. This is why he wanted her to be his. She loved him for who he was. Not because he was an earl. “Yes.” She said at last. The Undertaker almost jumped, his excitement was barely contained as he lifted the sapphire ring out of the box, sliding it onto her finger. It matched her eyes like it had matched his own before. He saw how she looked at his hands.

“Oh, I should get a matching ring, now shouldn’t I?” He started with a laugh. She shook her head and lifted her other hand up towards him.

“I want you to have this one.” She said, showing him her silver ring. It looked like the Phantomhive one, only silver and slightly smaller. The Undertaker tilted his head and looked at the silver stone. He understood why she wanted him to have it.

“It’s beautiful, you should keep it. Treasure it.” He told her. He wouldn’t let her gift something to someone like him even though they were now engaged.

“I insist.” She slid the ring off and took his right hand. “If this actually fits, I will make sure you eat more.” She muttered, looking at the size of her ring. It slid onto his finger perfectly which didn’t only worry her, it made her happy and he could see it in her eyes.

* * *

Half a year passed. Undertaker ignored dispatch’ calls, figuring it was best not to get involved with them anymore. He knew how madness would welcome him as an old friend. He didn’t doubt Claudia’s powers of keeping him afloat, it was himself he feared for. He was afraid for his own weakness of the familiar fog that was insanity and that it would claim him and swallow him into a black void. Claudia would not appreciate the sight of him losing himself. He was sure of that.

Undertaker stood inside his room in the Phantomhive mansion. He was focused on the full length mirror while trying to get his hair bound. He was starting to think he had forgotten how to tie his hair back, even after having done so every day decades long. They had been married for a week now and Undertaker was enjoying every minute of it. Speaking of which, Claudia entered the room who started laughing at Undertaker’s struggle and his muttered curses.

“Dear, how often do I need to do this for you?” She was clearly amused, but it was a question Undertaker had been wondering about as well.

“Well, I am pretty old.” He said with a shrug and a laugh of his own. Undertaker had told her by now what he was and even though she had appeared alarmed at first, she had accepted it quickly.

“Tally around.” She told him, trying to get him away from the mirror. “Do you really think no one will link you to the undertaker?” She asked him, taking his black ribbon.

“Not if I tie my hair back when I take on the earl persona, dearie.” He said suggestively. She gestured for him to turn back around so his back was facing her. When no reply came forth, Undertaker sighed. “Please, countess Phantomhive, you mustn’t let your thoughts consume you.” Undertaker felt her hands leave his hair and he turned back to face her. He saw worry in her big blue eyes.

“You’re an earl.” She began. “You’re a full-time undertaker.” She placed her hands on his chest. “You’ve even become the queen’s watchdog.” She said sadly. Claudia leaned into him and the mortician took the extra weight gladly. He knew she was concerned, but she had to understand he wasn’t just human. He wouldn’t die of stress or overwork. He was fine with a night without sleep, he didn’t even need oxygen to stay alive.

“I know and I’m careful.” He reassured her. She didn’t seem satisfied though. What he didn’t know was that he had placed a letter on the small table in the far corner of the room. The letter had a decorated stamp on it, the stamp of the queen.

“Love,” Claudia backed up slowly, allowing her husband to right the bowtie he had been trying to correct while still holding on to her.

“Hm?” He answered absentmindedly. The bow was struggling in his hands, his fingernails were starting to grow and even if he didn’t seem particularly hindered by them, it didn’t look easy to move around their presence. Claudia took the bow in her own hands, slapping his away gently.

“I wanted to tell you something.” She looked straight into his phosphorescent eyes, seeing a flicker of curiosity igniting within the double irised orbs. “I’m pregnant.” She held his gaze in hers while trying to assimilate the situation she had thrown herself into. Undertaker’s eyes rid themselves of any emotion, he was a closed book when he wanted to be and it nagged at Claudia. He knew it did, but he couldn’t help it.

“I’m going to be a daddy?” He asked slowly and carefully, afraid he must have misheard her.

“Yes.” She told him as equally careful. His mind was ablaze the moment confirmation left her lips. It made his mind swirl in ways he had never thought possible. He wanted to dance! He was going to be a daddy! So exciting! Undertaker took Claudia’s hands in his and twirled her around, laughing all the while.

No.

Wait.

This meant their child was going to be the queen’s next watchdog. He had taken on the job knowing it would be passed on to the next earl in line, but he had forgotten that even if it was rare, some Shinigami could still reproduce. He felt his heart sink. He had added a burden to his family, an unnecessary weight was loaded onto his shoulders. His smile faltered and it didn’t go unnoticed by his wife.

“What’s the matter?” She asked. Undertaker looked at her.

“The queen.” Was all she needed to hear to know what was wrong.

“Don’t let it sully our celebration, I’m sure that if our child is like its father, it will be strong.” She told him. What Undertaker hadn’t mentioned was that every reaper came into existence because they had committed suicide as a human. He wasn’t strong. Had never been. But she was, so he prayed to any God willing to listen that their child would grow up to become as strong as its mother.

 

_TO BE CONTINUED..._


	3. That mortician, caught

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the next two chapters (starting from chapter 4) will be mainly Undertaker-centered for reasons you’ll read in chapter 4. I’ll warn you in advance that chapter 4 and 5 won’t be fun to read. But they were fun to write :]

Claudia waved her husband off and walked back into the mansion where she was reminded of the letter she had placed on the table in their bedroom. She took her time, but she regretted it as soon as she opened the letter. The queen’s seal was broken easily and she took the letter out of the envelope. If it was something important, she’d have to send someone after the Undertaker to relay the information.

_“I know what you are, earl Phantomhive.”_

Claudia didn’t hesitate and ran down the hall towards the stairs, descending them hastily. She’d dropped the letter in her haste, she noted absentmindedly. She had to get to him. She ran. She ran out of the mansion and towards one of their carriages. If one carriage had already departed, the footman usually was the one who drove the second carriage. Liam, the footman, followed her and jumped up on the driver’s bench.

“Buckingham palace. Fast.” Claudia said, closing the door.

* * *

 

Undertaker had met the queen once before, which was when he took on the offer of becoming her watchdog. It excited him, to put it lightly. She was a nice lady who listened intently to what her guests were saying. It intrigued the Undertaker. For one with such power, he’d imagine her to be curt and straight to the point. Instead, the queen was the exact opposite. He stood at the gate, watching its fascinating curls and loops. A truly beautiful masterpiece. Undertaker snickered at his thoughts. He was admiring a gate. He saw one of the queen’s guards approach him so he straightened up. It was hard to shake off the Undertaker persona, he thought dully. He felt the urge to smile and wave at the guard, but an earl doesn’t behave like that and Undertaker hated it.

The guard was a nice fellow, Undertaker decided. Sure he was stiff and didn’t seem to appreciate his jokes, but he wasn’t shouting at him to be quiet. The queen’s guards had the tendency to shout at people who crossed their borders and Undertaker felt triumph at the notion of being able to talk continuously without managing to upset the stiff, stringed, puppet.

“Pray tell, young lad, what is your name?” Undertaker asked at last. The guard shot him a sideways glance, but up until now he had kept his stoic expression firm. Stubborn blighter. Undertaker thought.

“William T. Spears.” The guard told him. Undertaker smiled at his achievement.

“Why, it’s nice to meet you, mister Spears.” Undertaker said with a smile. He could have sworn to have heard that name before. But he couldn’t quite place it. Ah well, another time he would remember. Mister Spears opened two large doors. The poor man was pushing against them as if they were made of concrete. Undertaker decided against helping him though, he knew it would raise questions.

“Ah, earl Phantomhive.” Undertaker heard the queen say. “How is the wife?” She asked. Something was off. The air seemed crisp and cold. Undertaker felt it tug at him, it was a silent warning, telling him to leave immediately.

“As the daughter of a duke, she has the advantage of knowing quite some people.” Undertaker told the queen who nodded with a warm smile. It was forced. Undertaker had seen queen Victoria smile before, it had been genuinely warm. This was a practiced conversation. Undertaker’s hand automatically found its way to his side where his scythe was resting in a dimension near the mortal realm. It was a subdimension only objects could exist in. Sure he could reach it, but he wouldn’t be able to live there. Not that he ever tests this theory.

“I see.” Said the queen who took a seat. She clasped her hands together, her eyes were boring into his. “Have you received my letter, earl?” She asked, her voice was reflecting the ever present kindness.

“I must apologize, I haven’t.” He told her, slightly confused. The queen’s letters were usually delivered fast which made his confusion grow more the longer he thought about it.

“That’s alright.” The queen took a cup of tea and brought it to her lips. “Reaper.” She said loud enough for him to hear. Undertaker’s eyes widened and he bowed his head, trying to get his hair to cover his eyes. It wasn’t working though, Claudia had pinned back his bangs.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to indulge, majesty.” Undertaker insisted. He looked back up at her, standing with his hand barely in another dimension.

“You know very well, earl. I’m sorry to say that I cannot allow you to serve any longer as my watchdog.” Undertaker frowned at that. Did that mean he was free of the contract he had so blindly signed? “Claudia, as the next Phantomhive, will be my watchdog now.” The queen announced. Undertaker shook his head. Anything but that.

“She’s not qualified.” Undertaker told her. The queen laughed at that. It was a kind laugh, one that would welcome anyone.

“She is. Believe me.” The queen said. “Guards.” She suddenly called out. Undertaker took this as his cue and reached into the other dimension to pull out his scythe. He never got the chance. He felt a sting at the back of his neck which made him aware of a couple of things. The queen was looking his way, but her eyes were not on him. There was someone else in the room. Sluggishly, he turned around and saw mister Spears with a gun-like object in his hands. A tranquilizer gun? Strange. When had he fallen to the ground? He couldn’t quite recall. He couldn’t quite feel. He knew he was frowning, but his face felt numb. As a matter of fact, everything felt numb. Soon he felt the overpowering urge to close his eyes and sleep.

* * *

 

She had lost him. The queen had told her the terrible news of her husband dying in an accident shortly after he departed from her palace. She also told her that the local undertaker wished to give her his condolences. She knew the queen was lying though. Claudia had stood in front of the gate, waiting for Undertaker to come out of the palace, but he never did. That’s when Claudia suspected something had happened. After all, the earl and the Undertaker were one and the same. But than again, the queen had never even met the ‘local undertaker’.  
Claudia was sure he would come back to her.

Days passed.

A month.

Nothing happened. She became the watchdog, but she could care less. Her husband was gone and she was all alone once more.

“Good day fine lady, I was sent to come and ask for your hand.” A man roughly twice her age stood in the hall. “My name is Cedric Ross.” He introduced. Claudia felt disgusted. Who ever thought they could just invade and ask for her hand while she was mourning the death of her husband? If people had known she was pregnant, they would have left her alone. The trouble with that was that it was Undertaker’s child and therefor be thrown right at the lions before it was even born. Their child should carry his name, but it also meant grave danger for the child. Claudia thought about it and looked at the man. She descended the stairs, keeping her thoughts for herself until she reached him.

“I accept.” She told him. Cedric smiled happily and looked around, no doubt admiring his new riches. Claudia didn’t smile though. She was using an innocent man, she decided. Claudia looked down at her blue ring, the very one Undertaker had given her. It’s still so beautiful.

“Where has that butler gone off to?” Cedric asked looking around. “That ugly painting needs to be replaced.” Claudia heard him say, referring to the painting of Undertaker which had hung on the wall for decades. She felt her heart being squeezed to bits. This man was going to try and erase every evidence of Undertaker’s presence ever having been there.

 

_TO BE CONTINUED..._


	4. That mortician, tormented

Undertaker woke up in a cold, dark room. His head was spinning, dancing to an unknown rhythm, a song without sound. No. There was definitely sound and it sounded a lot like expensive shoes walking on hard, concrete-like ground.

“Ah, you’re awake.” Undertaker heard a male voice say. For some reason, Undertaker found it hard to move. The sound of chains reached his ears when he tried to get his arms to cooperate. Ah, chains. “The queen ordered me to kill you. She neither specified how nor when.” The voice told him. Undertaker tried to look over his shoulder in an attempt to try and see who was talking to him. He had never seen the man before though.

You can’t kill me. Undertaker felt like saying, but he held his tongue wisely. Only a death scythe could kill him, but he wasn’t going to let the man in on that. Undertaker still had a purpose. He needed to get back to his wife. How long had he been out? He couldn’t tell.

“They speak so high of you, yet I don’t see any of that reflecting in those,” The man took a closer look at him and stopped abruptly. He was staring into his eyes which were no doubt portraying his immense hatred towards the queen and her minions. He could also tell it wasn’t just the visible emotions which had put the man off, it would probably also be the glow his eyes seemed to emit in dark places. Claudia had often commented on it and how she thought it was both frightening and beautiful. “eyes.” The guy finished in a whisper. Undertaker turned his head away, shaking the man out of his daze in the process. “Are you even human?” The man asked. Undertaker refused to answer though. He kept his lips pressed against each other stubbornly. “Fine.” Undertaker heard a door open and close. If it wasn’t for his eyes casting a dull green light, it would have been completely dark. He wasn’t sure if he preferred to see just how alone he truly was. Perhaps it was better for him to just close his eyes and enjoy the darkness, that way memories of Claudia and their unborn child would keep him company. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t replace the cold floor with the warm comforting company of his memories. His memories turned into haunting images of him reaping his wife and a faceless child screaming before being impaled by a familiar scythe The blurry image of him holding a book with Claudia’s name in it and that of one Vincent wasn’t all that comforting either. Undertaker thought about the name a little longer, he liked it.

“So. Since you prefer silence,” A voice startled him out of his stupor. He hadn’t even heard the heavy door open, he didn’t have much time to be concerned about that though. The guy pulled out a gun and aimed it at his head. Well, it wouldn’t kill him. But it would weaken him considerably. Undertaker didn’t turn away when the trigger was pulled neither did he feel the bullet. He heard the consistent sound of ringing in his left ear, but shook it off. “Hurts. Doesn’t it?” Undertaker remained silent. He saw the man pull out something he recognized as some sort of sound mufflers. He sought for the correct name, but it wouldn’t come to him. Once his captor had covered his ears, he lowered himself to Undertaker’s side who still lay on the floor, unable to move because of the shackles that bound him to the cold, unforgiving ground. The man lowered the gun to the side of Undertaker’s head, pointing it towards the floor. A sickening grin curled the guy’s lips in a way Undertaker could only describe as a reflection of madness itself. It was filled with sadistic joy. A shot went off and a merciless stabbing pain filled his right ear followed by the sound of another gunshot. His ear was screaming at him. His left ear wasn’t as much in agony as his other one, but it was enough to make him bite back tears. His ears were already sensitive because he couldn’t see as well as he would occasionally wish. Right now he wished his ears would cease their incessant ringing. Muffled, but present, was the sound of laughter. It was a maddening sound and he felt the pressing urge to hit its source. But he couldn’t.

Two more gunshots went off right next to his left ear which was immediately followed by a stabbing pain.

“Better to balance things out.” His captor told him with a predator smile. Even though his ears were stinging and stabbing in places he didn’t know could, they would heal in no time. His impaired hearing was already fixing itself up, he noticed.

“Raymond! What are ya up ta, in there?” Undertaker heard someone ask through the door. The other guy spoke with a heavy accent, one the mortician couldn’t quite place.

“Nothing significant.” Raymond responded, never taking his eyes off of his victim. Undertaker played his part cautiously, he moved his eyes towards Raymond’s lips. It was an act, allowing the human to be proud of the supposed suffering he had inflicted upon the reaper. Sure he still felt the agony of his hearing being blasted into itty bitty bits, it wasn’t as significant anymore once he had healed enough. Appearing broken and miserable would mean he could retain his strengths longer so he could escape faster. It seemed to work, Raymond saw him ‘trying’ to understand what he was saying and smiled in satisfaction. For all he knew, Undertaker was either completely deaf or nearly deaf. If someone asked if he cared, Raymond would have retorted with an, “As long as I can still hear his screams. I don’t care one bit.” Undertaker could almost imagine an entire conversation, but he didn’t want to praise the man by thinking of him. He most definitely wasn’t worth the wasted time.

“Ray, a queen’s guard was found dead. Committed suicide, he did.” Came the voice from before. Raymond turned towards the door this time, his eyes leaving the Undertaker. The mortician’s only thoughts were with the poor guard who thought he would be free of the burden of life. He would only be weighed down with the strain of death next. To the guard’s advantage, reapers usually don’t remember their human life. Mark, usually.

“Which one?” Raymond asked through the door. Undertaker turned away to look at the wall, trying to appear as deaf as he possibly could.

“Spears.” The voice told him. Raymond snickered and muttered under his breath,

“Surprise.” Undertaker looked down as best he could. William T. Spears, the guard who was the cause of his current predicament. He heard a clatter of metal against metal, making him want to look up at the sound, but he refused. “Let’s get that nice jacket off of you.” Raymond started cutting at Undertaker’s sleeve, uncaring of the skin underneath. He cut into the fabric along with his skin. Raymond’s hands came back covered in blood, but the moment he laid eyes on the mortician his expression turned into one of surprise. The wounds he had made were already healing. Undertaker tried to slow the process, but he was failing. They weren’t supposed to slow it down after all. “Demon.” The man spat. Undertaker didn’t reply, he didn’t even make any effort to appear he hadn’t heard him.

“Wasted effort is one of the privileges of youth.” Undertaker told Raymond who reeled back at his statement. The mortician knew he could free himself any time now, but he felt like being entertained. How much could he do by just using words? He didn’t need a body with the knowledge he had gathered in his long life. Could he tear apart a soul without touching it? He didn’t get a chance to find out. Raymond had already lost his mind. He started lashing out, he was gripping the knife with as much force as he was tearing into his flesh. An agonizing string of cuts rained down upon his arms, torso and legs. In the blinding haze of fresh pain fogging up his mind, Undertaker could swear he felt his pinky finger being cut off. Once Raymond’s fright-induced assault on his body ceased, Undertaker felt exhausted. Blood was pooling around him and Raymond’s knees were soaked in the red substance. As were his hands. And everything else.

“What? Cat got your tongue?” Raymond asked. This time, more focused, he started reopening the slowly healing cuts. Undertaker bit back any unwanted sounds and proceeded to try and ignore the odd sensation. The second time the knife cut into an existing wound, it felt worse. He seemed to be floating. But where would he float off to? Claudia. He wanted to go to her. He wanted to feel her gentle hands against his. He wanted to drown in her eyes and get lost in a forest of happiness. “Have a good night, demon.” Raymond stood up and admired his work a little longer. Undertaker could still feel the knife cutting into him, but it didn’t matter. Soon the wounds would be healed. He looked up at the door wearily when he heard it open and close. He felt the blood in his hair, pulling at it as he turned his head.

On guard, but tired, Undertaker drifted off into an uneasy sleep. How had it gotten to this? He knew he needed to escape, but not now. He felt too exhausted to move, let alone try and force the chains to bend and free him.

 

TO BE CONTINUED...


	5. That mortician, vitriolic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra long chapter ahead! Be warned!

Undertaker waited for the door to open again. He’d been laying in the same position for who knows how long. He was growing stiff and weary, his limbs were aching. It was unusually quiet, his eyes had stopped glowing long ago, their light had been extinguished. They betrayed him, cast him in everlasting darkness. Why didn’t he just escape already?

There.

The sound of the heavy door. It was pushed open with a grunt. Raymond had often commented on it needing replacement, but that wouldn’t do. If they were to replace the door, word would get out that the earl was held captive who should have been long dead by now. Again.

“Demon.” Raymond greeted. Undertaker had forgotten why he called him that, he didn’t even care. His wounds had stopped healing some time ago, but they still wouldn’t kill him. “You haven’t spoken in weeks, afraid I won’t kill you if you do?” Raymond asked laughing. Undertaker just stared at the man, unheeding of his words. He wasn’t even sure if he understood him at all; his thoughts were sluggish and a jumbled mess. It was as if a fog had manifested itself inside his head, clogging it up in an attempt to escape a reality he knew had to be a dream.

Right. That’s why he didn’t escape. He couldn’t.

“What will we be doing today?” Raymond sighed exasperated. He turned around where a table stood. Undertaker had yet to see what was on top of it, but judging by the dark mass he could tell it promised no good. Raymond took out a strange device, one Undertaker hadn’t seen before. Attached to it were numerous strings. No. Cables. Raymond brought the device closer and the ominous bolt drawn on the side of the machine-like thing made Undertaker try and squirm away from it. Bolts usually implied electricity.

His head swam for a moment, but he was brought back quickly by an interesting stinging sensation which seemed to reach far into his body. It nestled itself a nice spot in his bones before being torn away again. Undertaker couldn’t help but groan in protest, he was still not going to scream for the man. He made sure of that.

“Raymond.” That voice again. It had become a familiar one, one that seemed to save him if only for a moment so he could breathe in relief. His relief didn’t come though. Instead of shutting off the device, Raymond let the current run through his body while he stood up and walked towards the door.

“I’m busy.” He told the person on the other side. Undertaker was straining against the electricity now, his fists were banging against the floor in obvious agony.

“Oh well, I just thought you might want to torture the poor soul some more with something I heard.” Undertaker wasn’t even listening anymore. His blood was rushing through his ears and he could swear he felt something trickle down his nose. Blood? He still didn’t scream. He refused to. His head was being torn apart, it felt so damn heavy and light at the same time.

“Well, come on than.” The conversation went on. Raymond didn’t even seem to acknowledge the mortician anymore.

It was not a sudden thing, it was more like something had crept up on him, slowly but surely he saw the already dark room get even darker. His thoughts were fading away, as was the pain. And he welcomed it. He embraced it and held on to it for as long as he could.

* * *

 

“Oi, you back?” Undertaker heard Raymond’s voice through the fogginess his mind seemed to be surrounded by. He shook his head, trying to clear it, but his movements were stiff and uncoordinated. “I have news for you.” Raymond started. Undertaker was staring at the ceiling now, not even blinking. Raymond laughed at the sight, his unresponsive victim probably wouldn’t even care for his next words, but he took his chances.

“I’m going to kill you now.” Raymond said loud and slow mainly for the sake of getting any sort of reaction. Nothing happened though. He briefly wondered if he had fried the ‘demon’s’ brains. “Pitiful.” He commented with disgust. “You should be happy. I heard lady Phantomhive has died.” Raymond said. For the first time since long, Undertaker’s head darted towards his captor. His eyes were unreadable, but the cloudiness was gone. His eyes were sharp and focused on Raymond’s.

Raymond didn’t know whether to laugh or be frightened. He had to remind himself that the man in front of him was defenseless. He was tied to the ground, injured and even if he could move, he didn’t have any weapons. Raymond grinned, it wasn’t as genuine as he wished it would have been, but the phosphorescent eyes of the ‘demon’ had started glowing again and it killed the fun.

“She was reported dead. murdered.” Raymond continued. He took a knife and kneeled down. He looked at the green glint the knife was reflecting off. It bounced on the wall and onto the other metal instruments in the small otherwise dark room. Undertaker pulled at the chains that bound his wrists. “Do you have any idea how long you’ve been here?” Raymond asked suddenly. “It’s time for you to go now.” He told him with a nod. He slid the knife into the Undertaker’s throat and started the slow process of cutting through it all the way to the other side. Undertaker felt the blood pool in his mouth, the iron taste was horrible. Yet, it still wouldn’t kill him. Could a human ever kill one of his kind? He’d liked to test it for a little while longer, but if years had gone by without his knowledge, he definitely should reconsider.

He allowed Raymond to do as he pleased, knowing that he might get out of there sooner than expected. The pain was bearable, he noted to his surprise. He forgot how it felt, actually. “I’m releasing you after two years, smile why don’t you?” Raymond’s sadistic grin had returned. Undertaker heard his words, had two years really passed? How? It felt like weeks, not years. Was this why his body had stopped healing? Was it too drained? He didn’t know. He didn’t want to know either.

Raymond cut into his neck, the blood was oozing out slowly. A wonder he had anything left at all. How fun it would be, a bag of blood missing its contents except for its weakened muscles and bones. Still alive, a heart still beating. Blood pooling around the shell of the bag, a shallow existence of the person who had once been kept alive by the sticky substance he was laying in.

“Whatever you saw in that woman. I don’t understand.” Raymond began. Undertaker was pulling at the chains again now. “She even remarried and had two children!” Raymond started laughing. Undertaker moved his words to try and speak, but blood was all that came out which made him cough. He started pulling with renewed strength. He pulled hard. The dark lit room was cast in a brighter green light as his anger started to become more obvious. Raymond stared in horror as he pulled one of his shackled wrists free. No human was supposed to be that strong. Was he a demon after all? Raymond backed away slowly. Undertaker could feel his every emotion. It hung in the air, it smelled like fright and he embraced it for it was not his own. He felt delight, a maddening grin curled his lips upwards. He felt the unexplainable desire to laugh at the frightened expression of his current companion. He wanted to hug the guy and tear his head off both at the same time. It was a wonderful feeling, Undertaker decided. One of utter freedom and control. Only, something was missing.

Undertaker’s grin widened as he locked the door by simply looking at it. He hadn’t felt this kind of power in a long time. It ignited a new bout of strength which coursed through to the rest of his body. The smaller cuts started to heal. His throat, not so much. But he could live with that. He snickered at the irony of that. How often had he told himself he wouldn’t die of anything of what was done to him? Far too many times.

He held out his hand while pulling the other one free of its chains. Undertaker sat up, his back aching, but he paid it no heed. His attention was driven towards the scared human in his presence once again. His outstretched arm turned towards Raymond who was whimpering now. A green light soon morphed itself into a large death scythe. The skeleton made the scythe seem even more threatening. Undertaker heard Raymond gulp in fright. Undertaker’s grin never faltered even when he tried to stand and failed. His legs were practically useless; they’d been immobile for a long time, Undertaker concluded. He wasn’t worried, heck, he was happy. He was the happiest reaper alive! He started laughing. It was a strange muffled but eerie sound. The wound on his throat making the scene even more horrifying. This was so much fun! He could stretch his arms! He felt the weight of his scythe and the discovery of said weight only resulted in more happy laughter.

“Please. I…I’m terribly sorry.” Raymond tried. He held up his hands, a sign of not only surrender but also weakness. Undertaker simply cut right through the man’s torso, blood gushed out of the humongous wound, splattering the room in a bright red. The mortician’s smile fell. He was alone. A sudden wave of interest struck him when he looked at the skull of his scythe. He was enthralled by its inscrutable beauty. It felt so nostalgic to be in the presence of such a great and lifelong friend. No? Yes. Undertaker’s eyes were reflecting back at him, leaving an impression inside his own mind. Telling him stories of the days he had reaped, recounting the times he had stepped up to a human being and cut its soul away. The menacing glint of his eyes were only broken by the thorny crown wrapped around the perfectly shaped skull. Such delicacy put into one object. Although it couldn’t be considered to be a mere object, now could it? This scythe had been everything to him. It had served him adequately and it never declined to meet his expectations of any death he had either caused himself or had been assigned to watch and even help along. Let life play its miserable games. It was a deplorable reminder of how surrounded it was by death. It was marked by it, haunted by its dread filled screams. It terrorized the night, unheard by anyone because folly laughter filled the shadows of dusk before it had a chance to manifest itself and find a place in this world. Its mortality never questioned which was life and its close friend, time. Instead death had found itself a cozy corner where it lurked and waited. Patiently. Very patiently. Yet, it spread like wildfire.

Undertaker looked around the green lit room and back down at his feet which were still bound. He pulled them free with ease. He briefly wondered what had kept him chained for so long. If he could break free in a weakened state, he should have done so the moment he’d woken up the first time around. Was it curiosity what had bound him? He really couldn’t tell. Undertaker stared at the door, waiting for his strength to return to him. He crossed his feet and sat there. Waiting.

Waiting.

It was all there was, wasn’t there? What was he waiting for again? He cocked his head at his own thoughts. It was only messing with itself, making the Undertaker even more confused than was necessary. But than again, when was it ever a necessity to begin with?

Blue. Deep blue eyes suddenly popped up in front of him. Claudia wasn’t dead. Undertaker started laughing again, he felt the sudden movement tear at his cut throat but he couldn’t even begin to think about that. It was all just so funny. There he was, sitting in his own blood, waiting. He was a reaper! All they did was wait! What for? Ah! The question was nagging at him, but his musings were interrupted by footsteps.

Poor sod doesn’t know what he’s getting himself into. Undertaker thought to himself. A grin found its way on his face while he unlocked the door with an expecting glare. He willed his feet under him and climbed his way up off the ground, using the wall as support. He took a few hesitant steps, glaring at the door. He let go of the wall and made his way forward.

“Raymond.” Ah! His savior! The voice who brought him relief on many occasions. This time, it only brought weariness. “Have you killed him yet?” The voice asked. Undertaker saw the world fading and felt his scythe dismiss itself. He briefly wondered why until he finally noticed the green-red room had started spinning. Again that rhythm he couldn’t follow. It angered him, but he couldn’t dawdle any more time. He had to sit down. Yes, that would solve things. No? So he sat down. He heard the door being pulled open with a grunt. How come he was laying on the ground now? Undertaker tried to lift his arm or open his eyes, which he had also closed without any conscious indication as to how or when. It all felt so…cumbersome. Was it the right word? Undertaker didn’t hear anything else anymore. His senses left him while he floated in limbo. Again he was cast in a void where he would be waiting.

 

_TO BE CONTINUED…_


	6. That mortician, grim

“…both dead.” Undertaker heard a distant voice shouting something. He could only make out a couple of words, but the few words he heard were enough for him to come to two conclusions. One, he hadn’t been unconscious for long. He’d only blacked out for a bit. Two, he was presumed dead and thus partially free. The latter depended on interpretation of freedom and how near it actually was, but it felt close enough. Undertaker didn’t even feel like moving, but he had to for not only his own sake, but also Claudia’s.

“Darn, there’s no one here.” He heard the voice mutter. Undertaker hadn’t even heard him enter the room. He opened his eyes and looked at the man. A short chubby man with short, dark brown hair earned himself a spot in Undertaker’s cinematic records. He moved to sit up, catching the attention of the small man who started freaking out on impulse. Undertaker tried to shush him, but it was no use. He had to hold himself back from drawing his scythe and simply cutting the man in half like his unfortunate companion. The shorter man started howling and whining about moving corpses and rotting brains, but Undertaker tuned it out as best as he could. Instead, he busied himself with trying to get up again. His shaky legs were regaining their strength rapidly.

“Time.” Undertaker gasped out. It was a question but it sounded more like a command which seemed to confuse the frightened man who had been trying to retreat away slowly.

“Time?” The chubby man repeated. Undertaker nodded, his eyes fixed on the scared human. “Uh…” He placed his finger on his chin in thought.

“How long?” Undertaker could tell the other was but a simple minded human being, but he didn’t feel like trying to string together an entire sentence.

“How long what? Time?” The man started running his hands through his hair nervously. Undertaker could feel the presence of his scythe trying to tear through dimensions. Just a little longer. He promised. “Goodness me, how do you suppose I know how long time has been here for?” The man asked. “I reckon it’s been here longer than either you or me.” The man started laughing nervously until his own words started to sink in. “You,” He started stammering, pointing at the reaper. “Time is older than you. Right?” Undertaker blinked a couple of times before laughing helplessly. Finally he allowed his scythe to manifest itself.

Time was but an illusion created by the obscurity of a mortal mind that refused to face what was and what wasn’t there. As a Shinigami, Undertaker should have grown accustomed to the infamous flow of time, but he couldn’t very well let it pass him by without gaining any knowledge of whether it existed or not. It started as a fleeting thought, but soon it had consumed his entire attention, his tinkering had led him to a point where he decided that time didn’t exist. Shinigami weren’t bound by time, they were trapped in it. Everything that made them a reaper was time, a phenomenon humanity had labeled as something they could measure. Yet, they also called it infinite. Which only cracked the Undertaker up more. How does one measure infinitude?

“How long,” Undertaker cleared his throat, ignoring the burning he involuntarily caused. “…I been here?” He coughed to clear his throat, but it only resulted in blood pouring freely from both the wound and his mouth.

“I beg your pardon?” The chubby man excused. Any evidence of a smile fell from the Undertaker as he started glaring at the man. Was he deaf? “What? Why, you can hardly blame me for not understanding anything you say!” The man huffed and crossed his arms. Undertaker cocked his head to the side, trying to regain the man’s attention once more.

“Temper.” Undertaker merely said. He reached out to the shorter man, holding his scythe against his throat in an attempt to scare the sassy man into getting him to think about his words.

And apparently it worked. The man started shuffling uncomfortably and gulped loudly.

“Alright alright. Uh,” The man held up his hands, one gripping the thinner end of the blade, trying to push it away. “How long, time. You want to know how long you’ve been here?” The man asked cautiously, afraid that if he were to say something wrong, the reaper would kill him instantly. Undertaker nodded, quietly urging the man to tell him already. “Three months.” He told him flatly. Undertaker blinked before a grin found its way on his lips. Only three months! He felt like laughing. Again. But he didn’t. Instead, he pulled his scythe away from the useless human and turned away to face the door. Three months! Raymond had told him he’d been there for two entire years! The bloody lunatic knew how to get to people. Time was precious to human kind, it would tear a normal person apart knowing they had wasted two entire years in captivity. Of course three months and two years were a huge difference, but without a clock or a window, one would lose track of more than just ‘time’. As foolish as he’d been, the Undertaker had believed the man.

Without warning, Undertaker spun his death scythe around, the blade facing himself as he swung at the human in front of him with the blunt end. The mortician wasn’t sure what happened next, but he could feel his scythe hitting something hard which sent enough force up the handle to reverberate not sound, but a vibration which worked itself up his elbow, resulting in his scythe slipping and tearing a clean path across his face. The sudden flare of pain was enough to send him in a frenzy of sorts. His previous plans to spare the chubby human in front of him was cut to pieces, just like his body, he mused. He didn’t know he had already killed the man with the force of the death scythe’s collision to his stomach though. Having hit a vital vein and trapping said vein between his spine, ending his life by forcefully pulling off of the man’s stomach, ripping the vein in half.

A swift strike, cut the already motionless body in half. A second strike following soon after. He wouldn’t be getting up any time soon, Undertaker thought to himself with a satisfied smile. His sight might be poor, but he could easily puzzle out the blurry scene in front of him. Blood, body parts, unknown which part belonged to which body. But it didn’t matter. Undertaker was free, but what had he gained?

Knowledge.

Undertaker nodded to himself. Right, knowledge of the queen’s true nature and her sadistic dogs. Dogs. Claudia.

* * *

 

Undertaker stumbled and fell through long corridors, trying to find a way out of the maze he had found himself in. He was using his scythe to support most of his weight while he willed his heavy legs to move. Even though he’d been restrained, Undertaker would make sure that if there ever came a next time, he’d try and move around as to not lose any of his mobility. He was exhausted quickly, but he kept walking. His scythe tapped against the ground, creating a string of resounding echoes which would have concerned him if he was in his right mind. Now though, he refused to let the thought of being discovered enter his mind.

He kept on stumbling and at one point he even nearly toppled over on top of his own scythe. He breathed out deeply in an attempt to regain control over not only his legs, but also everything else. His thoughts were wandering and his limbs were moving on their own. That was a terrible combination, he decided with an absent nod.

A little while later, Undertaker arrived at his shop. Fortunately for him, he hadn’t passed any people on his way. Blood was dripping down his cheeks and he had to keep one eye closed to prevent the blood from getting in it. On his right side he could feel the blood dripping from his jaw onto the ground. It was an intriguing warm substance in contrast to the clotted cold blood he was used to in his mortuary. He had to suppress the urge to wipe it away, if he did, he would be rewarded with a painful lingering sting until the blood itself became a nuisance once more, starting a never ending cycle of pain and annoyance.

* * *

 

Undertaker closed the door with more force than was essentially needed. The silence was cut, creating a ripple of sound which traveled throughout his humble shop. he stood there for the longest of times. He had to get back to the manor. He had to see Claudia. It had been three months, their unborn child needed a father. Before he turned back towards the door, the feeling of drying blood made him dash for the bathroom. He cleaned up quickly, not even bothering to change into something less torn. He was topless and his trousers were torn, but he was quickly covered up by one of his long overcoats. The moment Undertaker stepped out of his shop he thanked London’s terrible weather. At least it meant he wouldn’t be considered even more insane than he already was for wearing a coat in the middle of summer. Not that he would have minded.

Sometime along the way towards the Phantomhive mansion, Undertaker’s thoughts started to wander once more. If the queen was out to get him and she learned of his survival, Claudia would be in danger. His previous meaningful strides reduced to hesitant steps, one foot in front of the other, repeat, repeat, until both ceased their movement. Undertaker stared out into the street, a carriage passed by unnoticed. He oughtn’t return. The wind whispered warnings in his ears, its soft voice shrill yet calming. They were right.

Mally(1), she had died back in 1837. His first love, he’d been forced to reap her. That was when he defected. He could take no more. The emotionless imbeciles of Shinigami dispatch had known about his relationship and even if they weren’t allowed to interfere with life and death, they had somehow managed to speed the process along. After all, _“We cannot let anyone slack off because of some human nuisance. Not even someone as insignificant as you.”_ AHA! Insignificant! If only the higher ups had known he was one of the strongest out there and would end a lot of reaper lives the moment they tried to take his scythe! Undertaker stared out in front of him. Life was such a useless period of consciousness. He turned around as if forgetting why he’d gone out in the first place. But he knew all too well. Claudia needed him, but he would kill her, just like he killed Mally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) Mally G. is the name on one of Undertaker's mourning lockets.
> 
> "Mally G. December 10th 1837"


	7. That mortician, memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SPOILERS CHAPTER 131!!!  
> IF YOU HAVEN’T READ IT YET, LEAVE THIS CHAPTER FOR ANOTHER TIME!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you ask any questions. No. Undertaker didn’t hit his head.

Death was a promise, waiting in the shadows until a hesitation occurs. With a swift movement, it strikes. It was a silent reassurance that even grim reapers could die. Not that they knew for certain. It didn’t even matter if they could, all that mattered at this very moment were the wet drops on the window and how much it annoyed the Undertaker. When had he become so entranced by the mesmerizing dance of water outside his shop? Oh, right. It had been the beautiful lady standing in the pouring rain, seemingly guarding his shop. The Undertaker chuckled. This woman, such a pretty face. Such beautiful eyes. They were an enchanting sort of blue, the ones you could drown in. It reminded him of a certain someone, someone he couldn’t quite place. But that didn’t matter. He started grinning, the movement pulled at his stitched face. How had he ended up like that anyway? He’d been wondering about that often. He turned his attention back towards the raindrops spreading a great paradigm of disordered pictures on his window. He snarled at the glass, trying to see anything passed the water stealing his view of the outside world. If only his vision wasn’t so blurry. He shook his head and turned his attention to one of the coffins behind him. It was late. Too late. Well, let’s have some fun, no? He started laughing, no longer caring about the increasing stinging of his face.

“Joy!” He shouted into the ever present silence of his shop. He looked at the detail knife and picked it up, studying it close as if he had never seen it before. “Such joy.” He muttered to himself, lowering the thin bladed knife until it rested on the wooden coffin. With practiced precision he started carving out the rest of an unfinished rose. Sometimes he wondered when he’d learned how to carve, but questions like these were often pushed away. He could honestly care less, but that shouldn’t be him. A lot was missing as of late. There were gaps in his mind, gaps that were trying to edge him closer towards an ever growing depth inside his own head. A depth he recognized as a growing void filled with insanity.

Half an hour later, the rose was finished. He blew the dust away and eyed his work. A pity. He suppressed a sigh. His work was for naught. Soon, woodworms would be eating his work away while maggots would feast upon the occupant of said work. Yet another work, destroyed by nature. But that’s alright. Undertaker giggled at the mental picture. He started carving out the name of his latest customer onto the recently polished lid, “Cedric K. Ross”. Quite the posh guy, Undertaker had noted. He had died a sinful man. As soon as word came out about the Phantomhive children, Cedric had become a useless drunk. Undertaker shook his head. Oh, he pitied the Countess. The poor woman had given the eldest children, a boy called Vincent, her surname. The youngest, in turn, had been given Cedric’s name. Frances Ross. Undertaker snickered to himself. The Phantomhives had soiled their own name, it seemed. The poor countess had every right to go as she pleased, earl Ross didn’t quite have the looks after all. Laughter soon filled the small parlor one more.

The Undertaker carved the last ‘s’ in the wood and inspected the letters carefully. Undertaker had never met the countess and wasn’t intending on meeting her either. For some reason, he just disliked women who had a certain amount of power. This reminded him of the queen. No good. He had to change his own train of thought. The queen wasn’t fun to discuss, she disgusted him and he didn’t even know why. He stood up from his crouched position and stretched his back. Lord, he was getting old. Soon Undertaker was wheeling the coffin towards another room where he had placed the ‘prettied’ corpse onto a slab table. The Undertaker took a chart and read it, uninterested. They’d be there for the body soon. He shrugged and started maneuvering the corpse into the coffin. Custom-made. He smiled at the notion. His life was one big custom-made coffin. His life, his coffin. His choices, all his own, custom to who he was. He started laughing. To some it sounded maniacal, to others it sounded…well…maniacal. There really was no other word, which again, made him laugh more. They were scared of him! Joy!

* * *

 

No one was supposed to know the earl had died so when they came for the corpse at midnight, the Undertaker had already prepared his carriage with the coffin.

“Good evening, gentlemen.” Undertaker greeted with a grin.

“Good evening, Undertaker.” One of the men replied shakily. It was cold outside, it was a nice evening even though it was January, almost February. Undertaker shrugged at the shaky sound of the man’s voice and waved for him to follow him.

“The earl is ready to leave, want a peek inside?” The Undertaker sad tapping against the wooden lid of the coffin. The man in front of him shook his head and smiled sheepishly.

“No need for that, mister Undertaker.” He said, his hands held up in front of him. “If you’d be so kind.” He gestured towards the carriage and then the road.

“Of course, of course. It was part of the agreement, was it not?” He said climbing on the carriage. He pulled at the rein and allowed the horse to walk up the road in front of the Phantomhive carriage. Annoying animals, horses were just too big. Donkeys were smaller, he’d have to see how they’d do, pulling a carriage loaded with a heavy coffin and the Undertaker. “I’m not that heavy.” He muttered to himself, looking down at his belly. He resisted the urge to pat it, remembering the cookies with extra sugar he’d been eating all evening. “At least not yet.” He told himself, laughing merrily in the wake of his carriage, spooking the men behind him.

* * *

 

He rode the carriage up the stone driveway leading towards the back of the manor. He whistled at the size of the mansion as he neared it. He looked at the numerous windows and spotted a shadow standing behind one of them. He might be near-sighted, but he could swear it was one of the young Phantomhives. Probably the boy. He waved at the boy with a smile. Vincent had to be around 19 now. Not particularly a child anymore. He could vaguely see the outline of a hand waving back at him and he smiled contently at the silent reply. Proud of the peculiar reaction he had gotten, Undertaker focused his attention towards the horse. At the back of the manor, Undertaker was greeted by servant who had heard them approaching.

“Greetings, butler!” Undertaker greeted happily. He pulled at the reins until the horse came to a standstill. He hopped off of the wagon and extended a friendly hand towards the butler. He could have sworn he knew him, but then again, butlers always looked similar to one another. Was it the neat suit? Probably. Undertaker shrugged mentally, ending his inner debate. Undertaker looked back at the butler who was staring at him with a perplexed look. Undertaker stared back, slightly concerned something was on his face. Oh! It must be the scars. “I apologize, I must look hideous.” Undertaker said with a smile.

“No, it’s not the scars, sir.” The butler said, still staring at the reaper. Undertaker didn’t know how to reply to that, instead he just nodded awkwardly. “I’m sorry for my rudeness.” The butler apologized. “I will return the carriage to your shortly.” He said, taking the horse’s rein and leading it away from him.

“I have never seen Tanaka like that before.” Another servant observed. Tanaka. Undertaker repeated the name several times inside his head. Why was it so familiar?

“I can sum up plenty of people who act “like that” when meeting me for the first time.” Undertaker replied with a laugh. He turned around to face the servant and saw it actually wasn’t a servant at all.

“Mother isn’t here to greet you, Undertaker, sir.” The young Phantomhive boy said politely. Undertaker shook his head and replied,

“That’s alright, lad.” He reached out to shake Vincent’s hand who took it without hesitation. A firm but not too firm grip, Undertaker noted with satisfaction. A strong kid.

“Can I offer you some tea, mister Undertaker?” Vincent asked. He was unfazed by the mortician’s strange appearance it seemed. Undertaker thought the offer over, but shook his head.

“I’m afraid I have to decline, young Phantomhive.” He told Vincent. The boy actually looked disappointed.

“That’s a shame.” He said, making the Undertaker tilt his head in apparent confusion. “I’ve seen an interesting painting up in the attic,” The boy began. “The man looked a lot like you, I thought you might be interested in it.” He said with a shrug. If the man in the painting looked like him, well,

“I can imagine why you want to get rid of it.” Undertaker said laughing madly. That was subtle.

“Lord, no. I didn’t mean it like that.” Vincent hastened to correct what he now noticed wasn’t the best way he could have phrased his thoughts.

“That’s quite alright. I’d be happy to take a look.” Undertaker told him if only to reassure the boy he had said nothing wrong. Vincent’s face softened with relief almost immediately.

“Good evening, master Vincent.” Tanaka greeted, pulling Undertaker’s carriage along.

“Hello Tanaka, do you mind doing me a favor?” Vincent asked to which the butler merely looked at him, silently urging him to continue. “Can you get that painting from the attic, the one mother has been refusing to sell?” Vincent asked with a goodhearted smile. Why would the boy want to get rid of a painting his mother treasured? Tanaka averted his gaze from Vincent to Undertaker as if looking for any kind of recognition. Undertaker just smiled at the butler which seemed to disappoint him.

“I doubt your mother would appreciate you selling it, lad.” Undertaker told him. Truth be told, the mortician didn’t even have money on him so he wouldn’t be able to buy it even if he happened to like it. Though why would he? If the painting looked like him, he’d only buy it so he could burn it later.

“I know, but it’s not healthy. She stares at it with grief in her eyes.” Vincent told the Undertaker, leading the reaper towards the front of the manor to the front door. “It looks like she’s mourning it.” The boy muttered silently. Tanaka had gone through the backdoor into the manor, but Vincent was leading Undertaker towards the front before he had a chance to tell the kid he didn’t mind going through the servants’ quarters. He was an Undertaker after all, he wasn’t a noble.

“I see.” Undertaker said quietly. Vincent walked him towards the living room and offered him a seat. The mortician sat down and waited patiently while one of the servants gave them some tea. “Master Phantomhive,” Undertaker began politely, if only to break the silence. “You have a sister, right?” He asked before taking a cautious sip of his tea. His mind started reeling. This looked like a terrible set up plan to kill him. Lure him inside with a well prepared story, poison him and bury him somewhere so no one would ever find his rotting bones. How this thought entered his mind, he couldn’t even begin to fathom. He carefully put the cup down on the table and settled with just waiting.

“Yes, she’s sleeping upstairs.” Vincent told him. Undertaker nodded and looked around. There were family pictures on the walls and the furniture looked anything but cheap. He stood up without warning, making Vincent jump. The young Phantomhive remained seated though, so Undertaker decided to roam around the living room. He took one of the family pictures and looked at the odd foursome. Cedric was definitely not a handsome man. His strong and grave eyes reflected in his daughter’s facial expression. Luckily for her, Frances had her mother’s looks. What intrigued the Undertaker as well were the difference between the siblings. Sure, Vincent wasn’t Cedric’s. Everyone in London knew this, but the kindness inside the young boy’s eyes was surprisingly inviting. His mother shared this trait as well. He silently wondered who his father was.

“Excuse me,” Tanaka’s voice sounded from across the room. Vincent had been looking at Undertaker while he had been looking at the pictures. Undertaker put the picture frame back and approached the butler. Tanaka looked way too old for his age. The reaper could see deep lines of worry and a hint of grief inside his eyes. Could he expect anything else though? The earl, his master, had passed away two days ago.

“Now let’s see what this beast looks like.” Undertaker said as joyful as ever, earning him a chuckle from Vincent. The lad didn’t seem too affected by the loss of his father even if it wasn’t his biological father, Undertaker noted. He hadn’t even realized this up until now. Tanaka turned the painting around wordlessly.

“I don’t know what eye color you have, but there’s certainly a strong resemblance.” Vincent said gesturing a hand towards the canvas. Meek colors. It wasn’t right. The eyes. The hair. It just wasn’t right. The scarless face. No. This wasn’t…

This painting.

It’s not right.

Undertaker stared at it for the longest of moments. He could see Tanaka looking at him with interest and sympathy. Vincent wasn’t looking at him, he was looking at the painting, waiting for him to say something. It’s not right. He gazed at the blue eyes of his own reflection.

“It’s not right.” He muttered to himself. He said in an attempt to comfort himself, memories he had pushed back so long ago started to resurface along with faces he had tried to forget. Vincent had turned towards him now, looking at him with a pensive expression. Undertaker turned towards the boy, his eyes widening as realization hit him.

“The earl is still among us.” Tanaka spoke quietly. The words echoed inside his head. Claudia entering his shop, his heart swelling with love, the proposal, the rings. He looked down at his hand, the silver stone reflected off of the light in a dance of small glistering lights.

_“Tell me at least your surname. I want to know who I’m talking to.”_

_“Well, miss Phyntom, it’s Phantomhive.”_

I’m earl Phantomhive, Undertaker thought to himself. He looked back at the painting.

 _“The earl is still among us. He is right in our midst.”_ He looked up at Tanaka. His hair moved out of his face, a single green eye coming into view. Tanaka was smiling sadly.

The queen. She had torn him away from her. She had killed him.

“Mister Undertaker?” Vincent asked uncertain. “If the painting is not to your likening, Tanaka will bring it back.” He told the mortician, nodding at Tanaka to get the painting out of the room before their guest had a breakdown. Vincent could see the battle within the reaper, a battle he was sorely losing.

“Burn it.” Undertaker said, turning his gaze towards his feet.

“Excuse me?” Vincent asked in disbelief. Surely the painting wasn’t that bad. His blue eyes swept over the picture once more. He looked at a man with long silver hair and blue eyes. A small, slightly forced smile graced his pale lips.

“Burn it. Destroy it.” Undertaker told him more sternly. “Tell lady Phantomhive someone bought it. I will send you the money first thing tomorrow.” He turned to leave, his face hidden by his long bangs.

“No, I wanted to give it you if you were interested, but if it unsettles you this much,” He halted and looked at Tanaka. “Please, dispose of this painting, Tanaka.” Vincent said. “I don’t want any money, mister Undertaker.” He laid a hand on the mortician’s shoulder. “It has only brought bad luck upon us.” Vincent smiled at the man in front of him, but the Undertaker didn’t look at him. He was looking passed the young boy and into blue depths where he had drowned in so long ago.

_“If this actually fits, I will make sure you eat more.” She muttered, looking at the size of her ring. It slid onto his finger perfectly which didn’t only worry her, it made her happy and he could see it in her eyes._

He could see her eyes. The genuine happiness. Not the feigned happy smile she was using in the pictures he had been looking at earlier. No. It was genuine and warm.

“I just hope mother won’t be too angry with me.” Vincent said awkwardly trying to lighten the mood. He laughed nervously, running a hand through his blue tinted hair.

“You have a puppy, no?” Undertaker asked suddenly. Vincent nodded hesitantly, no doubt picturing the tiny black dog.

“Sebastian?” He asked the mortician.

“Yes, tell her Sebastian tore it apart.” Because that was all it was worth. To be torn by a dog. Ha! The irony! The queen’s watchdog, torn by the queen, torn by a dog owned by the watchdog. What a joke! He saw Vincent contemplating over the thought, trying to picture the happy puppy playing and eventually shredding the painting into itty bitty bits.

“That’s not a bad idea.” Vincent said with a satisfied smile.

* * *

 

After that, July 13, terrible news reached the Undertaker. Claudia Phantomhive had passed away. He mourned her like a lover would because that’s what they were, at least that’s how he felt. A piece of him died and the moment her body reached his shop, he broke down. He had snipped away a piece of hair and had out it into an empty mourning locket. He stared longingly at Mally’s locket, but ignored those haunted memories into a corner inside his mind.

Nine years later, good news finally found its way into the Undertaker’s life. Vincent had gotten himself a little earl of his own. Two in fact. His wife, Rachel had given birth to identical twin boys. Being Vincent’s informant came with its perks, but he waited. He waited seven more years before finally visiting the Phantomhive household.

Undertaker wandered through long halls before a young child bumped into him. Surprised by the boy’s sudden appearance, Undertaker blamed his unusual lineage. Sure he could sense humans, but reapers were different. Especially at such a young age. Vincent was half a reaper himself, sure he had passed some of that on to his children.

“I’m sorr…” The child started, rubbing into his eyes to clear his vision as if bumping into him had disoriented him. However, he stopped speaking when he opened his eyes to look who he bumped into.

“Oh my, oh my.” Undertaker started with a smile. He brought a hand up towards his mouth in amusement. “It’s little Phantomhive!” He practically sang. “Which one are you, hm?” The child shouted in fright and started stuttering incoherently. “Well, no matter! You’re both Phantomhives as regards me.” He told the young boy who just sat on the ground, looking up at him. Another voice was heard, ah, must be the other tiny Phantomhive.

“Oh! There you are!” It was indeed the other one. Undertaker eyed the two boys fondly. Too bad he couldn’t actually be their grandfather. Even with that rather disappointing thought in the back of his head, he managed to enjoy the twins’ company, along with the young photographer. It was a day neither he nor the twins would forget. Especially the one he had startled so much into giving him nightmares until the day dear old Sebastian would stop barking and their roles were reversed. But that was a matter for another time.

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if the ending was disappointing, but from this point onward I could only start telling the entire manga from Undertaker’s point of view. But no one would appreciate that, so, THE END ^^


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